Paul cleared his throat and looked around the room. His eyes lit up when he found a group of old photos on the mantle.
“Is this you?” he asked, amusement thick in his voice.
This time Ace couldn’t stop the blush. “Yep. Me in all my curly glory.”
“You were adorable.” Paul studied Ace’s face and hair. “Does it still get curly like that?”
“In a heartbeat,” Ace sighed. “Makes me look like an unkempt frat boy, so I keep it trimmed.”
“That’s too bad. I bet it would feel great through my fingers.”
Gulp.
“Is this your sister in the photo with you?” Paul asked, seemingly oblivious to the rush he just sent through Ace.
“Yeah. Sonya. My big sis.” He needed to call her. Hell, he needed to go visit them in Colorado and remind her sons who their favorite uncle was.
“Sonya and Acelin,” Paul said. “German, I take it?”
“Quite. My mom is Ilsa, even,” Ace said. “And the name Paul aside, McDonnell has gotta be Irish, yes?” As do those dark eyebrows and tragically beautiful features.
“Correct.” Paul smiled at him as the conversation faded to nothing. The moment stretched out, and Ace was in danger of getting lost in the silence.
“So,” he said, determined to stay true to himself, “you’re here, within a hundred miles of -”
The doorbell rang, interrupting Ace’s attempt at exercising his atrophied willpower.
“Shit, my dinner,” he said, moving toward the entryway. “Um, just a sec-”
“You’re answering the door like that?” Paul asked.
Ace self-consciously adjusted the belt of his robe. “I did when you rang. I’m sure delivery people see much worse.”
“Why don’t you let me get it?” Paul pulled out his wallet and headed toward the door.
“Seriously, it’s okay,” Ace insisted. “I’m not going to shock anybody. And you don’t need to buy my dinner.”
“I do if I’m going to steal some of it.” Paul firmly pushed Ace back, and the touch of his hand nearly burned through the terry cloth.
Ace stopped breathing briefly and locked eyes with him. Neither of them moved for a moment until the doorbell sounded again.
“Coming,” Paul called toward the door. Ace retreated into the kitchen to get some drinks, marveling at how easy it was for that man to render him non-verbal.
He stood staring into his refrigerator, no clue what to offer Paul. In the meantime, he decided to polish off what was left of the moscato. The sweet wine zipped through him and sent a burst of warmth to his blood.
“What do you have to drink?” The illegal voice snuck up on him again.
Ace turned and regarded him. “You’re really staying for dinner?”
“I could take it all home with me,” Paul teased.
Ace sighed. “Fine. I have Boulevard, Pepsi, Jameson, rum, vodka, some wines. Take your pick.”
“Wow, you’re pretty stocked.”
“The Irish aren’t the only famous drinkers, McDonnell,” Ace said with a smile. “We Germans more than hold our own.”
“I bet you do,” Paul rumbled. “Boulevard for me, please.” He reached past Ace to grab a beer, and Ace was suddenly disoriented by the man’s proximity.
He half stumbled back toward the cabinets for plates and forks.
“Aw, aren’t you gonna let me feed you with chopsticks?” Paul said.
Ace raised an eyebrow at him and firmly handed him a plate and fork.
Paul opened one of the Happy Garden cartons. “Mmm, I love lo mein.”
That deep purr nearly undid Ace. No man had the right to be that sexy. And a doctor. And in his kitchen.
And in the closet. Focus.
They sat at the dining table and ate in silence. Ace didn’t think it was wise to encourage him. He had already shown an appalling lack of restraint around this man in close quarters. And in his home was about as close as Paul could get.
Lola hopped up on the table to demand a share of the meal. Ace smiled at the cat with affection.
“Did I forget you, sweetheart?” he cooed. “I know you’re only here for the food, not really for the company.” He scooped a pile of the noodles on to a plate and placed it on the floor. “We all know our place in the hierarchy of your affections.”
“You have a cat?” Paul asked, rather obviously.
“Sort of. I don’t think Lola would submit to being anyone’s, though. It’s a very persistent porch kitty.”
Paul frowned. “It?”
“Not sure if Lola is a boy cat or girl cat. That’s why I call it Lola. Like the song.”
Paul considered it. “But in the song, Lola turns out to be a transvestite. You’re saying your cat is a transvestite?”
“I’m saying my cat doesn’t know what it wants to be.”
Ace didn’t intend that to be so pointed, but as the words came out of his mouth, he saw how they could apply to Paul. He doesn’t know who he wants to be, either. Doesn’t know if he really wants in or not.
Paul looked at him with furrowed eyebrows and questioning eyes.
“Or, if Lola does turn out to be a boy cat, he has very shy genitals,” Ace said, putting on a cheerful voice.
Which would make Lola nothing like Paul.
As if he had read Ace’s thoughts, Paul gave him a slow, burning smile.
Ace quickly pushed a big forkful of noodles into his mouth and averted Paul’s eyes.
The sooner they finished this meal, the sooner Ace would be out of danger, so he made quick work of the food on his plate.
Paul kept his eyes on Ace as they both ate, but he didn’t say much throughout the rest of the meal.
Getting up to clear the table, Ace couldn’t stop a small groan from escaping. He’d been sitting too long again, and his muscles protested.
“Stiff?” Paul asked.
He would use that word. “All over,” Ace admitted. “I don’t usually do much work on my knees like that.”
He wanted to swallow his tongue. Was every word an innuendo?
He dared a glance at Paul’s quickly darkening eyes.
Yep. Every word.
“I can fix that,” Paul said, low.
“Oh, it’s not so bad that I require a visit to the chiropractor,” Ace said, waving him off. “Thanks, though.”
Because there was no way he could survive the feeling of Paul’s slick hands all over his body.
“Nothing clinical, I promise,” Paul said. “Just an expert massage. You did say something at Steven’s about needing one.”
Yes, he did. Ace’s muscles pleaded with him to say yes. His brain screamed at him to politely decline and get this man out of his house. He suddenly knew what Eve was thinking as she gazed at that forbidden fruit.
Except in this case, Paul was both the apple and the snake.
“Really, it’s not necessary,” Ace said with remarkable restraint. “Fifteen or sixteen hours of sleep, and I should be just fine.”
“Come on, you’re already dressed for it,” Paul said, indicating the robe. “And I have some very relaxing massage oils in my car. You’ll be good as new when I’m done with you.”
“You just happened to have massage oils with you,” Ace said flatly.
Paul actually twinkled at him. “You’re not the only Boy Scout.”
Ace could feel his last finger hold of control slipping away. It’s one thing to swear him off when he can’t see Paul; it’s another thing altogether to breathe his air and still sensibly push him out the door.
“Well, what kinds did you bring?” Ace asked, as if the right answer would make up his mind. “I don’t relish the idea of my house smelling like sandalwood.”
Paul smiled. “Let me go out to my car to fetch them while you get some towels.” He reached the door and turned around. “Don’t disappear on me.”
Now would be the time to bolt the door and shut him out of his life. Right now. Just move to the door.
Instead, Ace found himself heading upstairs to the linen closet.
He was halfway down the stairs when Paul came through the door.
“Stay there,” Paul said. “Are the bedrooms upstairs?”
Ace faltered. “Uh, yeah, but I thought the sofa -”
“Since I don’t have my work table, it will be a lot easier for both of us on a flat, soft surface like a bed,” Paul said, climbing the stairs. “Sofas can get cramped and awkward.”
Ace nodded. It made perfect sense. Of course they were going to be in bed for this. Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.
This man was going to eat him alive. One can only hope.
“I have some good choices for you,” Paul said, holding up a wicker basket of colorful glass bottles. “Let’s get set up.”
Paul spread the towels carefully on top of the bedspread in the master bedroom while Ace examined the selections. He opened the lid on almond oil and took in its sweet scent.
“That’s a good choice for someone who’s new to getting massages,” Paul said.
Ace put it back in the basket and picked up a dusky mauve bottle.
“Agarwood, huh?” Ace said, reading the label. “Is it related to sandalwood? Part of the wood family?”